Patience
by ASingleMind
Summary: Twelve years is a long time to wait without so much as a sign, or a caring word.


Mila paced herself with outward patience as she prepared herself in front of the vanity; a perfect caricature of someone without any edgy anticipation or rolling thoughts. It was something she had fostered through sheer determination. In toils against unyielding fields, in the face of steely phobic neighbours, in every childish tantrum and milestone, on the nights where it was not warm enough against the gnawing _need _in her mind, under the oppression of unconscionable taxes that always took more than just water from her...

_ Twelve years. _

Could you love someone in absence for that long? Or was it an ideal kept alive, that very deliberately and methodically excluded any emotional weakness to the passage of time and the possibilities it grew? An illusion of humanity that by its greatness could not falter, and thereby, neither could she if she was to believe it.

In plenty were memories of better times. Of shared ideals and passions, and creation, of things beyond themselves and things that would surely grow proudly under their care. But didn't real love need a continuing presence, the only allowed breaks those of assured return? Had Marcus become a suborned concept dreamt on time and time again? Would she still recognize the man in front of her as the man she remembered?

And, what would he see in her?

Their photograph, ripped and taped anew leaned against the bottom edge of the mirror. She had regretted leaving it behind all those years ago, but now with her own reflection to compare by doubt tempted her.

There were few traces of the smiling woman in the face she now adorned. The imitation of silent, resolute opposition to a ruthless system had become, in part, truthful. It was a visage further hardened by a year in immobile captivity. The soft cheeks that lined the woman's expression were now protruded by a harder jawline. The years of labour had matured her bones, their rigid outline visible under thin flesh. It put her mouth into a permanent flat line, her expression the perfect show of a middle-aged farmer and stern mother. Her icy blue eyes seemed incredulous, sceptical of the uncertainty welling within her. If there was any atrophy from her extended deprivation it no longer showed.

It was enough time spent ruminating. Her hair remained in its usual single braid weave, more familiar to her now. Leaving the photo in its place, she left her room without bothering to change out of her usual overalls. She couldn't see the difference it would make after so long.

Her master bedroom was the farthest down the hall, left untouched during her absence. Closing the door behind her, she paused, gazing for the slightest moment. The door clicked shut.

The feeling was surreal. After so long, so adamantly wishing for and defending them, she had nearly forgotten them in a brief brooding. Possibly the greatest testament to her commitment, an undeniable evidence to her willingness and endurance, a viable symbol of their relationship.

Her two beloved children.

Two children who had never really met the man that they had grown to idolize in her absence. How much of that had been her fault? She knew the pirates harboured similar feelings, but it was tainted with cynicism (or maybe realism). Had her withholding made the revelation particularly tantalizing to their naivete? There had been little choice. To give in would have been to endanger...but raising them had been her responsibility in the absence of their father. She could have prepared them better.

But maybe not. While his influence had not been direct, she could see small parts of him in them. Both superficial and otherwise. Mahad certainly took after his father, despite her best intentions. Lena too, could be particularly stubborn. It was also something they actually shared, whether or not she wanted to admit it. Forced obedience always seeded discontent, something Marcus had found particularly hard to handle.

Not everyone saw them the same way, she remembered. It was usually for the best. Their prodigal nature was often better hidden from prying eyes who might a connection between her, the time of her arrival and the fall of the rebellion. But there had been some—

_"Mila..."_

_ "It's been a hard season, with the lack of rain and the Sphere taking what little we've managed to get." Mila said, her tone turning slightly resentful._

_ "No one likes what they do. But it's better not to resist. It would make things worse for everyone." the woman said. _

_ Amelia was a similar age to Mila, but the years had not been as kind. A genuine lifetime of farming had given her toned arms and a sturdy if not slightly bent back, but freckles showed the overexposure to a hard sun. She sat at Mila's dining table with a stern dignity that befitted a labourer. She was someone who had known deep laughs that could only be brought up by hardship. Her brown eyes were, by themselves ordinary, but the asperity betrayed her hardy nature. Her hair, cut short for practicality was only a few shades lighter than her eyes. It was a bland, ordinary combination that she wore with surprising beauty._

_ "It's exactly that attitude that lets them increase their damn taxes despite our yearly decreasing rain percentage..." Mila continued as she sorted the dishes on the counter. Mahad and Lena had been sent outside to entertain themselves, a welcome reprieve for the adults._

_ "I know. We all know. Its a source of shame for all of us, Mila." Amelia, told her. The concern was veiled in a firm statement. It was more often now that Mila would let her dissidence seep out, letting her shared agitation overflow. Fortunately, Amelia had never much loyalty to the Sphere, despite the forced pretences. _

_ "But not enough to make anyone do anything about it."_

_ "They tried. And look what happened."_

_ "They're still out there, you know."_

_ "But greatly diminished. And no one thinks as much of them anymore."_

_ "They just need time..."_

_ "Which they'll have plenty of, assuming they can keep themselves under the radar long enough. They're barely rebels anymore. Pirates, more like. They're no longer in any position to offer anything to Skyland." Amelia said flatly. It was always the same conversation, the same complaints. It didn't change anything but the mood. And time and time again she had avoided giving her final word, worried she might tip the delicate conversation too far. _

_ She knew the statement had made its impact when Mila slowed the ascent of the dishes into the cupboard above her. _

_ "You know what I say is true, Mila." The poor woman at the counter had circled these thoughts too many times._

_ "...You're right." Mila finally replied. The sincerely was wavering._

_ "Am I really? I know you'd prefer to believe otherwise."_

_ "It's just...people have given up on them so easily. There were people fighting against the Sphere, for us. They were doing something great—"_

_ "Questionable, but continue." Amelia interrupted. Mila paused, shaken a moment by her friend's casual dismissal._

_ "The Sphere has terrorized people since the Earth shattered. And without anyone to stop them it's only going to get worse."_

_ "But it's more than that, Mila."_

_ "I—"_

_ "How long have you been pining away? How many years?"_

_ "How did you..."_

_ "I didn't, at least not for sure. But there's your children, and you've never spoken of him. Someone like you..."_

_ Mila's hands curled over the edge of the counter, fingers pressing the inside of the sinks._

_ "You didn't grow up farming. There aren't very many other professions out there these days, and I know you'd never sink to the levels some of us have, you're far too noble." Mila wasn't sure if the last part was intended to be mocking. Amelia had a subtly that sometimes blurred the distinction. "I don't know who he was, or what you did before you came here but...he must have been something if even after all this time you're still believing in him."_

_ "He was." Mila said. Quietly, Amelia stood up from the table. She began walking over to Mila, her pace somehow perfectly tuned to her feelings._

_ "Was. Mila, you can't keep like this forever. You're far more spirited than someone who's spent their life in Sphere territory. People here...that tone has been slowly crushed. They believe in a better tomorrow, but they won't do anything for it." Amelia continued. She stood beside Mila, placing her hand a few inches away on the counter. _

_ "The Sphere does that to people. I'm very fortunate."_

_ "This is crushing you in the same way, I can see it. You hate living like this, under their thumb. We all do, but its deeper for you, its hitting something vital. You're very strong Mila, but..." _

_ It was so barely noticeable that it might not have happened at all, but out of the corner of her eye Mila was sure Amelia was moving closer. It seemed unintentional, but..._

_ "Thank you, Amelia. But I think..."_

_ "It's what I like about you. It was obvious from the first time we met that you were different. Someone who had real excitement in their life."_

_ "I think you should go." Mila said. It wasn't as firm as she'd have like. Amelia's smooth motions shook a little._

_ "Perhaps, but I just wanted to..." Amelia drifted off. It was strange hearing her at any kind of loss of words, any hesitation. "I know its unconventional but..."_

_ Mila turned her head sharply._

_ "-But I'm here for you if you need it."Amelia said, almost stuttering. They stared at each other, unsure of how to proceed. Mila was growing more surprised as she came out of her stupor. Amelia was frozen with what seemed like regret. It didn't suit the woman Mila knew._

_ "I'll be going, now. Drop me a line if you need anything." Amelia said. It was the same way they had parted when they first met._

—who saw them for what they might have been.

It had been the most unassuming of mornings when his arrival came. The scouts that intercepted him had been unbelieving—the codes he gave honestly were so mismatched they were nearly jeering at his futile attempt when he landed. It had been fortunate that Cortes had had one of his few spare moments during the day just then. The brief pause enough to bring up a faint recognition, a recollection of something as trivial as an old code.

She would not be the first to see him. Interrogation, albiet mild had been required. A man claiming to be the famed lost hero appearing out of the skies was no small matter. She wasn't sure if Mahad and Lena had managed to speak to him. Cortes would be wise enough to withhold it from them, as well was most of the crew. But the siblings were more guile than people gave them credit for.

It would be better if they hadn't. She was the last in a line of verifications, although she wasn't sure how much her testimony was really worth.

Wayan was the only one in the hall when she arrived. He nodded to her with a well practised knowing look as she approached. She returned it with a look of what she hoped was reasonable determination. He spun the lock open without opening the door.

She pushed it without hesitation.

What do you say to a loved one you haven't seen in over a decade? One that left you without a word, or even a sign. And two stubborn children to take care of.

"Where _the hell _have you been?"

**A/n: This turned out much longer than expected. A little drabble just...grew as realized how much there was to convey. It was inspired by a paragraph in a small passage of trilogy I'm reading right now. And I've always had mixed feelings about Mila. **


End file.
